The Owl
by Red Ignis
Summary: "When someone is dead, can they come back". This tale is an answer to that question.


_**The Owl**_

Chapter one: Nocturnal, Dragon awake

By Red Ignis

This night so dark crawled its endless reach over every alley way and broken street light that guarded ponyville from the shadows fangs. Only one building denied the night's kiss, only to glow in the moons radiance by the Luna light that she showered down on the hallowed tree. Burned, burned by flame that cleansed the tree with charred wood black as nightmare moon herself. Ponies' cladded in black walked past this once mighty tree. Only to tread by it in tears and wails, they followed a path that leads them.

Far away to a small field covered by the night, night and marble branded the dead from the living, sitting at the edge of ponyville and right before the cursed forest everfree. The small court of ponies, dressed in black as the waxing moon and starless sky's, as dark as their memories of the night that had brought them to this graveyard of silence, so dead that fills the night air with a gentle waltz.

In this court of seven that moved silently over dirt and death. They came in front of a small grave that was made of new marble. Just above the half-way point of this tomb, was an in graved sun and moon of the goddess of equestria and placed within the centre of the spheres was emeralds. Their shine was a beacon in the night that guide the ponies to this resting site in order to give their respects to loss of life, a soul that they all loved and cared for.

One by one all seven, had removed their black veils or tops hats that hid their disheartened faces. In this moment of discomfort, they lined up one at a time one baring gifts of roses and gemstones, both as red and white as the other.

The first to move to the grave was a yellow pegasus mare; with a pink mane that covered half her face, an emotionally broken smile, ware all over her face. Small whimpers could be heard a loud as she cried "you lied, fire can't hurt you... why did you lie!" she screamed the last part out. Giving up with reasoning to the dead she picked herself up, she lurched a rose down on the grave and walked, just beyond the back of the line to stand awaiting, like the stones around her she was silent and falling apart.

Two small unicorn colts made their way followed, one a pale cyan with a mane the colour of ochre; had tears building at the brim of his black eyes and a face so in emotional turmoil that one wrong move could set him off. His friend stood next to him; neck bent down with his aquamarine mane covering both eyes as his gold coated face was showing signs of sadness, so at ripe; other wondered if he would ever smile again or if his child hood innocence would return if anything was left. They both placed a single white rose next to each other's. Thus ending their respects they followed the yellow mare in her petrified state of being.

After that the last four mares took a step forward, in a single line. Two earth ponies, and a single unicorn plus pegasus. The first earth pony had an orange coat with a yellow mane that was ruffed up by her getting her veil off. Second earth pony's light pink coats shine lost in the night and loss of friends, her puffy dark pink mane lost its puff and drop down into a straight downward line. The unicorns normal blue eye shadow, gone lost its way from blue to a black lost in a heartbeat, lost heart beats were gone from most of the bodies in the ground around lost to time. Her mane, gone with the effort she had put into the normal way she want it to look to ponies all round her, but today she let her normal indigo mane fall from her head in honour of the lost to show she is grateful to live in natural beauty. And lastly a cyan pegasus was left hovering in mid-air. Not a single sign of emotion from her, her face hidden by jet black sun glasses and the veil she keeps on, on as well is the mask she wants, needs to keep her state a mind in check, focus; never giving into the train wreck of passion to bring the lost back to life. She wanted no pony to see her like this...no one not even the forlorn souls.

"..." the Pegasus just looked on, unlike all others; she kept her mind in a state she could control. So she just looked forward no smile, no frown, no tears just a faceless expression.

"Why?, you of all had to... leave us behind" the pink mare spoke in a distant voice unsure of herself and the grave in front of her, was it real, she felt its touch and knew it was real or at least she dreamed it was just a dream.

"s...s..."said the unicorn, then she followed it up with "Snips, Snails do either of you have anything to say, anything, anything to confess, any guilt, any words of pudding or flea markets or ranting about Trixie" her voice breaking with every word she spoke, finalizing she went on snapping at the colts "why don't you say anything to him, why not, spill why you won't say a word aloud or do you not..."

"Whoa there, Rarity" a thick southern accent, bite at rarity's ears like a crow to a fresh corpse on the roadside. "Y'all might be mighty upset and all but don't, listen well now, don't take it out on the Snips and Snails." Pointing a hoof towards the colts. "Can't you see the pain in their eyes?" she said in a calm and strict tone. As this happened both colts looked Rarity in the eyes, Snails moved his mane from his eyes. At which, doing this she saw the blood red, shoot eyes, he hid. An ocean of pain, his eyes laid wake to an endless torment. Happiness never catching up to the plumes left behind, how his look matched the macabre eyes of the dead. Vast and endless his eyes screamed for days of better, or lord discord's vile reach to take this pure colts souls, and turn it's form to a wolfen state, making a vampiric hung; no lust...

The gateway to the void, closed, locked and sealed way; as Snails hid his gaze under his mane. Not wishing to show anypony or thing, his newly found broken prospective on life, via eyes.

"Oh my... Celestia, Snails I...I...I...I'm sorry for saying any of that. Please forgive me" she said dropping down to his level, looking though his mane, as if it were his personal veil. Eyes watering up. Make up tarnished; as raven black eye line gushed and oozed its way down her face. Little grey coat, blackened, under heavy streams of black jets of water downing it's colour out. Its lasting effect on her coat now makes her face look like it had war paint, blatant on as clearly the live streams rushed down her pulchritudinous guise, drowned in grimace.

Snails, gave her a strained, laborious nodded. Followed by a quick glance to the marble, only to turn back to her and just let a single tear, drag down his face; clinging for life as it staggered, in an offbeat flow. Much different from the living cataract's that encompassing the group.

A meek, bereft of heads turned to face the pathway that brought them to this courtroom of necro-life. One last swan song bow to the tomb, and on the path, they tread.

"The great and powerful Trixie wishes that we finish the job we start one week ago. One died not the one I, wanted no, needed to die survived by the effort of her repulsive luck and the slave that scarified his will again to her service. We need to eradicate her broken shell now, while her loss of slave is still keeping her in coma" Trixie ended her speech by her horn glow from her horn shined rays of hate and cold loathing around this enclosed throne room.

This room, Throne in the northern wall with two statue of ponies made of mirrors, both facing the throne. Looking like their bowing at the throne like their kissing the thrones stairway to the seat. At the base of the stairwell sits a glass table, gleaming and sparking like a living diamond casted as a vampire in sunlight. New born roses combined with white bleach, filled the room, prissy prim and vain covered the room in a blanket. Five Silver chairs around the semi-circular table, each silver chair has sigils branded in. Each sigil is the same, with a triangle (colour of a rainbow) with an upside down heart (split into seven colours, purple, white, blue, yellow, pink, orange and green in the centre of the heart).

"Tell me Trixie" came a gruff female voice "How is finishing of the purple pest, going to help me clubber the pink dweeb and that bigger dweeb rainbow crash" she shoved an talon forward, rising to her neck and making a fist with a talon out and motioning it across her neck.

"I get what you're saying Gilda, but we have started with this one. We most end her life, do any other of you villains want to change are approaches. Because I the great and powerful Trixie wished that anyone wants to change it sate now, we any takers? Anyone? Or does Trixie have to go over the facts again".

A collective grunt was heard as Trixie shoved her nose in the air.

"Fine" Gilda said not wanting to hear Trixie, waste her time. Not that she would leave or pass up a chance to get back the dweebs of ponyville, and she couldn't back out now; not after what they did!

"Agreed" came from two stallions at the same time; both had the same colours and hats. Setting across from each other. Both just as pale olive as the other, with a dark red mane with white streaks in them... oh and one has a moustache.

"The party of dog's wishes to continue the plan, the way we spent months planning in order to end the feeble lives of the ponies" said a grey dog with a scowl in his tone and gems in his jackets pockets. Mountain dirt spins around him like a sicking hurricane of filth.

"You're saying that because we ended the life of that mislabel slave boy" the twins echoed in a chaotic harmony, wide grins and sharp eyes, as if daggers pointed towards the dog.

"So, what of it!" the Dogs k-9's showing vehemence, violence and venom. His lime green eyes cut down wards like a red hot blade cutting steel, showing no mercy and a boiling, stainless expression.

"Drop it!" a Voice, atop of the throne. A voice deep in class and sophistication, a right tone of pitch some were in the baritone range of tone. "We will continue with our most glorious plan as we decided as a council".

A turning of head, spins, fast and open cracks of joints caught up; as the sounded reverberated around in clock-wise twirls. Eyes darted and zipped over to the voice at top of the throne. There in shadows he sat. Not moving, either by; Hate soaked glazes or respecting hatred, all eyes were focused on this one pony. Pulling his body back to rest more in shadows and blackness, The others had now begun to quiet down in respect, or as its spelt to them "FEAR". To all but Gilda she cared not of this pony only her vice: Wrath.

"Now, stop with this arguing and start with calling each other by code name and start with the proper way, we ALL agreed on, got it" this pony drenched in shadows, said, frozen, hateful and sinful his speech came out, into the light.

They all stood up in an offbeat, of timing. They put on masquerade masks, each one a perfect fit for the names of the roll; they are calling out to the darkness to.

"Sloth and Avarice" Both the twins called their name out, their masks almost identical to all but the colour they had. Sloths, blue mask hid his face, now Avarice's on the other hoof; was a just big enough to cover the top half of his face, his moustache still in plain view to tell the twins apart. The mask a combination of gold and orange mixed together.

"Gluttony" the k-9 called out, his mask a simple plate of fabric to hide his face in pink gem stone of every shade there was. The eye holes in the mask were triangles of a scarlet to show his stare.

"Wrath" Gilda bellowed as loud as her griffin lungs would let her, almost as she was trying to scream. Her mask, was an inflamed crimson, it was made of no fabric; instead it was made of latex. The edges of the mask were a deeper shade of red blending in to a black as the mask bends around her head. She was the only one hold a weapon in the room a bull whip. "I might not like wearing this mask, but..." her voice droned off "I do like using this" she said cracking the whip, smashing a glass vase. The glass sprinkled the ground around it in a blanket of broken glass. She then rests her whip back to it hiding spot.

"The Green and Hateful Envy" Trixie called out in her showboating call. The mask she wore covers her eye line and was; deep green, wrapped in sheik gold in the image of a viper wrapping itself around the mask. Her mask was also not of fabric. Horns raced off the top ends of her oily masks green latex. "I, the holder of Envy don't know why the girls get to have masks made of latex and leather but not cloth fabric" she said peering into the shadows. "But..." a blush came across her face "I, Envy like this feeling of knowing we have at least a weapon" she said holding a wooden oak staff. Crafted to suite any witchcraft she called magic to use on her victims.

"Vanity Lust" a voice echoed from out the shadows. No one saw his face, nor his mask.

"Vanity, come out of the shadows we all know who you truly are so why hide?" said Envy in a board voice, looking at her staff and then her hoof, but never looking to the throne.

"Because" he sang out "I don't wish for you, all of you, to cast your eyes on me you're not worth looking at me" he knew the others were glaring at him " plus..." he went on " I don't like the idea of you, all falling in deep lust for me. That and" he laugh at that part "I've got my lover already. Every mirrors reflection I see him, he calls me over with his hypnotic eyes and he fills me with joy!" he got more in passion, every word he used to talk about himself. The other just blindly listened waiting for him to click out of this "vain love" of his; so they can get on with their meeting.

Back in the corpseyard, the stench still the same as it was only hours ago and as it will be eternal. The dead tree's waved to Luna's moon as it passed over the grave and into the setting distance. The tree's scratched and cut the thick night air, night air so cold and frozen. From the setting moon a small light lit the graves up, looking like some noir film.

On one dead tree arm, sat a small bird, grim in night light and cold winds. There, it sat peering down on to the dead, was this; the messenger of death? The night's personal lover? Or an old friend looking for his brother in arms?

Harking, this small bird took flight. Wings spread outwards, plumes the colour of dark brown cut the nights thick, frozen air like a razor cutting skin. The light brown body moved with slow speeds, as like a hunter finding its prey; the bird circled the dead. Not a vulture, far too small to be that creature; nor a crow, colour of the birds doesn't fit and is far too tall and bulky to be a raven. What, oh what is the bird, and what could it be doing?

An owl, an owl this bird is. Silent, striking and ghoulish it sliced through the air to the crypts of one forlorn soul. No words spoken, no hoots or who's spoken in an reparative response the bird gave to a call; It's night trained eyes looked around this scared ground. One more time the owl spin's round the sky looking for the spot to rest and mourn, mourn and hex, hex and awake, awake and alive this once lost spirit to the realm of the living.

There, the owl marked the green glow, like giant dragon eyes, they were the green beacon of the night. He found the grave he was hunting. A quick victory lap around the sky and he drives in for a landing.

Landing on cold marble, the bird's talons touched; scratching, scratching and more scratching came as he chipped the gravestone. Hooting, whose and other sounds in the night domain, casting, calling chanting calls of arcane lore's long past the powers of any creature. Alicorn goddess, or draconequus devil be damned.

In the dark of this night something happen. The bird hooted one more time and stopped, and then it looked like the owl was smiling.

"Spike... awake... now" a voice in the abstract, made spike hark to it.

He tried to open his eyes, but the no light can. The motion of his eye opening was their but on the other side of this coin was darkness. Midnight tis' the hour, colour and sound, he lifted his hand's up and felt velvet; velvet kissed his hands, kissed his whole body, velvet and some sort of wood.

"Awake...Young dragon..." it came again, where is this voice calling from.

He punched the velvet, punched, punched, punched... then light priced the damned darkness, Spike could feel it, burn him not much but enough to see away how he could escape.

The light came in more as he though out his plan. Quick as lighting it tried to fill the wooden box that enclosed him. He punched more and more. More and more the light came in, smothering his face white light blinded him. He could feel the light as he pulled up, he grabbed it like the light had weight, pulling himself upwards; he wanted freedom from this light drowning him. Burning his scales.

"Just a little further...Come now...Nocturnal dragon" it echoed, aloud to Spike.

He swore he was facing up as he saw the white light die out by a wall of darkness, thick nightshade covered his vision as he clawed ever closer. A perfect dived by white and black, light and dark, the known and unknown. Spike was scared he heard other voice latch on to him, by his legs; trying to pull him under into the eternal nothingness.

"Slave...worthless slave", "you ruined my gem farm... but at least I'm alive little dragon", "why brother I do say...it looks like he's laying his life down for his mistress", "Why yes he is, isn't it sad that even if he saves her...she...will...DIE!", "He's the replacement for rainbow crash, what a perfect fit (crack)" "You will be her slave no more little waste of scales, death is your new master now. Dragged down to discords palace, down in your heroism and dreams, as he drowns you in sin" voices loud as gunshots, each one a bullet, a wound, a scar that slow him down and try to bring him down.

He was losing energy, power, and the will to go on. Then like a beacon of hope, he heard a voice through the hate and lies. He knew this voice well; oh the voice was in shambles, broken but still full of hope.

"Spike, I need you to save me one more time!" Twilight, call out for spike.

This was the voice he followed. It lead him to the unknown, he dint care were it took him he wanted to save Twilight, rescue her, make her fell alive.

His wounds fixed themselves up; with ever handful of light he stabbed to drag his body through this thick nothing ness. He saw his way out, his hand enter the black. He felt cold air hit his hand like he was rebirthed, he dint want to stop he felt its rush like a drug trip to his brain. He got another hand though, and once again the same pleasure hit him. At this point he knew what he had to do, pull himself out of this limbo.

This was it now or nether, do or die. Did it he pulled himself free.

"Good job, Spike" Twilights voice said as it pushed his bottom half up, giving that extra help he needed.

Spike pulled himself out of the void. The once feeling of pleasure left him, and pain indulged his body, his scales, and his mind.

"Oh...Luna...what happened to me"?

End of chapter one


End file.
